


Of Father’s and Sons

by RisingAnarchy



Series: Like The Pearl of Dew [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Autistic Spencer Reid, BAMF Aaron Hotchner, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Depressed Spencer Reid, Depression, Drug Addiction, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious Spencer Reid, Past Child Abuse, Protective Aaron Hotchner, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Whump, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingAnarchy/pseuds/RisingAnarchy
Summary: When the rain finally ceases to whisper, it’s at the utter amazement at seeing the frail, feeble body of the boy they used to mock in the hands of someone stronger than Him. And as the world seems to come crashing down in that one split-second, it isn’t Him that’s tearing it down, but the memory. It’s the thunder and the rain that pelts against weak skin.Or; Hotch witnesses first-hand as his youngest agent’s mental health shatters and is left to pick up the pieces. Along the way, he also learns that he and his subordinate have a more similar past than either care to admit.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team, Spencer Reid & William Reid
Series: Like The Pearl of Dew [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828207
Comments: 36
Kudos: 370





	Of Father’s and Sons

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Welcome to the second part of this series :) I’m not sure how long it will be just yet, but I have a lot of ideas so they will come as I write them. I hope you all enjoy this one. I know I did <3 warnings below!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentioned Child Abuse/Neglect  
> -Canon Child Abuse  
> -Description/References of Depression, Anxiety and Suicidal Thoughts  
> -Brief Mention of Canon Drug Addiction

“ _The wounded recognize the wounded.” -Nora Roberts_

Doctor Spencer Reid sat impatiently at his desk, idle hands moving hastily across the surface as he searched for his upmost favorite pen. The raging storm outside only fueled his frantic motions as thunder rippled passed the clouds and invaded the man's ears. Hence the reason he was currently looking for, and failing to find, his most prized pen.

The one his mother had gifted him at the young age of two, claiming he needn't squander paper and precious resources by writing with a wooden pencil.

Even after all these years, the pen still worked and wrote fluently thanks to Spencer refilling the ink every few months.

His heart beat wildly behind it’s cage, itching to be let out as it leapt up his throat. He swallowed harshly against his anxiety. The wind was wailing from the outside, whipping uncontrollably against the windows and through the walls. So much so, that if Spencer listened hard enough, he could hear every wisp of wind was it whisked by, eavesdropping on the conversations they told. No one knew what happened that day except for the droplets of water, the dead flower garden and William Reid. And for that reason alone, Spencer hadn't been all that fond of storms.

Every drop that smashed haphazardly onto the glass was a fist flying towards his face. Every rumble of thunder, his father's roaring voice drowning out the rain. Every flash of lightning, the television screen blinking passed his eyes as he blearily opened them, only to be met with his father's shoe slamming into his face. Over, and over again.

Reid tells himself he is pathetic. A twenty six year old, traumatized by a one-time ordeal that happened sixteen years ago. Other people had it much worse, and with that thought in mind, the man felt his self-hatred rising exponentially.

A fear of thunderstorms was childish and illogical.

Spencer, a man of logic and facts, knows that his irrational fear, while uncontrollable, was something he would be ridiculed for. Adults just weren't afraid of rain, and that was that.

However; he didn't dwell on his woes for long, for his epic search for his mother's pen had still come up empty. It was one of the few things that soothed him in his time of distress. That, the first novel he ever read (a book by Proust his mother used to read to him), and the team. Seeing as though it was three in the morning and he wasn't home, it seemed as though the pen would be the only thing to calm his raging nerves at the moment. The team left hours ago, but the youngest refused to leave.

There was no way he was going outside while the storm was still going strong.

One look at that grey sky, and his mind was gone.

Thunder rippled through the building, and Spencer gasped audibly, jumping from his crouch position under his desk and hitting his head rather harshly against the bottom of it.

The pain was similar to when... he didn't even want to think about it. Reid knew if he did, he'd be sent back to that night, looking into the gleam in his father's eyes and knowing he was about to get his dues handed to him for being so insolent. 

"Reid?" The sudden voice caught the man off guard once more as he repeated the action, slamming his head against the desk. He groaned, rubbing his head gingerly as he stood, muscles rigged and eyes doe-like as he stared at the man who called him. Aaron Hotchner stood beside the younger's desk, eyes dark and stern as always as he assessed the situation. "Are you okay?"

"Oh! Uh, y-yes. Yes! I'm fine, I'm just finishing up some paperwork."

Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"...Under your desk?"

Spencer sputtered, realizing he had been caught and sat down in his chair, putting his hands between his knees to cease their shaking. A gesture his father did often that he regretfully picked up on. He removed his hands.

"Yeah, I-... yeah."

"Alright, well," Hotch gazes over the boy's desk, eyes racking over the cluttered paper and overall messiness that plagued his usually organized workspace. Finally, the unit chief settled on his subordinate, taking in the dark, bruise-like eye bags that stained his skin, as well as the pale, nearly ashen undertone. The kid, while normally very thin, looked gaunt under the harsh lighting and the older man knew almost instantly that he hadn't been eating properly as of late. Hotch's fear rose as he caught a glance into the kid's actual eyes and saw empty, black holes staring back at him. "I was wondering if you planned on going home anytime soon. You technically have to be at work in four hours."

"So do you," Spencer answers sharply, though his boss knows he hadn't meant to sound so cross. "I-I'm sorry. I just meant that you should get home soon as well. Work for both of us starts at seven."

Hotch smiles, which is odd on his naturally stern face.

"Well, I had planned to get home in time to see Jack, but Jessica insisted on keeping him for the night to have a ‘Disney Movie Marathon.’ Her words, not mine! So, I just thought I'd get some paperwork done in advance before Strauss is up my ass again. Now, enough about me; you look like you haven't slept in days."

Reid's face contorts ever so slightly before he shrugs and takes a sip of his now-cold coffee. It's bitter on his tongue from the lack of sugar (he'd never go without the sweetness, but lately, taste had been evading him and he settled for whatever took the least amount of energy to make) and nausea settled in his gut.

"I've been sleeping."

"Sure," Hotch nods, but his stiff posture suggests he doesn't quite believe the younger man. "Why don't you come up to my office considering we both aren't going home anytime soon? It'll do us both some good to have some company."

Spencer gaped like a fish out of water. This was uncharacteristic, especially for Hotch. While the man wasn't against affection, he certainly didn't show it in the traditional sense. Maybe a quick glance with warm eyes after a grueling case, or a short pat on the back before leaving; but never anything like this. Reid thinks back to all the times he's hung out with Hotch away from a case, and only a handful pop up, most of which from barbecues in which contain the whole team as well as the children. Why had the man suddenly taken interest? The question plagued his mind as the young genius took survey of the bullpen. Empty, aside from a janitor (Mr. Morrison, an old fellow who smiles at everyone he passes, receives baked goods from Garcia with a warm heart, and plays chess with Spencer every Sunday).

"That's not, uh, necessary, sir. Honest. I-I'm quote content down here... alone."

Hotch shakes his head fondly. "Nonsense. Come on, Reid. That's an order."

It's said teasingly, and Spencer can't help but pull an uneasy smile. The last thing he wanted was for someone to witness his pathetic reaction to a bit of rain. Especially Hotch, who didn't seem to be afraid of anything, really. It was honestly sort of unnerving. He gathered his belongings.

"Okay."

Hotch led the younger man to his office, finding his place at his desk and returning regretfully to his work. While the couch was open, Spencer took refuge on the floor, back leaning against an empty wall as he splayed his work before him. He laid out all his papers and utensils. All his materials, besides his special pen.

"Some storm out there. I can remember the last time we've had this much rain," The older agent attempts at small talk. He should have known that such casualties were impossible for one Doctor Spencer Reid.

"Actually, the weather pattern in Virginia has been constant for the passed five weeks. It consists of approximately forty-six percent of the days within a three month time period containing precipitation. Most days contained up to three inches of rain, however, not nearly enough to cause any real damage. Virginia has actually avoided a drought for about four years now."

Hotch blinked and nodded slowly.

"I enjoy the rain. Usually Jack can't fall asleep without the sound of it in the background. Garcia helped make me a playlist to play for him at night when it isn't raining," His calm voice would have been enough to lull Reid to sleep, if not for the heart-pounding fear that was crawling under his skin as the wind picked up, whistling quietly. If he didn't know any better, the genius would assume a hurricane were afoot. "It's very peaceful."

Spencer smiles wearily, but it hardly reached his eyes. Something the older man picked up on instantly, the profiler in him going crazy.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"You don't like the rain?" Hotch whispered just enough for the boy to hear as thunder croaked loudly.

The doctor shrugged. "Not really, I suppose."

Aaron raised an eyebrow and smiled sympathetically. The gesture put the kid on edge, as his boss rarely smiled. In fact, he had smiled more in the passed ten minutes than he had all week. With that thought in mind, Spencer gulped and fiddled with a pen. Just a normal, obtuse, pen. Not his mother's.

"Bad memories associated with it?"

"Yeah," The less than intelligent response was enough to provoke a peak of interest in the elder agent's curiosity. The young doctor hardly ever shared personal memories or his emotions, so he hoped to crack open his shell a bit during the conversation. "I just don't like the rain. The thunder, actually. Mostly. But the rain- the water- it has it’s faults as well."

"Would you like to talk about it? That always helps and I’m all ears."

For the first time in Spencer's life, he felt welcomed. Like he belonged. Like this man, his boss (his friend- no, family- no, father figure), actually cared about what was bothering him. It wasn't pity, or just asking out of generosity. It was genuine concern and an eager invitation to reveal his most vulnerable parts to alleviate his pain. The boy was always so sheltered, so closed off after his father left- and even before then, if he cared to acknowledge that- that it felt like he was in a whole new dimension when he actually sat down and told someone his woes. Sometimes it felt nice, and a weight was lifted from his heavy chest, though most times it merely made him feel more like a burden then ever. Like a squawker trying to find the imperfections in a nonpareil utopia. He’d be the last person to admit that his life had been pessimistic. Someone always had it worse than him, he convinced himself whenever the grey world seemed to rest like a weight on his chest, and if he complained, he was ungrateful.

Just like William said all those years ago. Spencer remembered every word. It was times like these he wished his eidetic memory faded into adulthood like most cases.

He had been struggling as of late, far more than usual as everything began to pile on. He was now yarn her to depression, and knew the feeling well, but he reminded himself of his responsibilities and pushed through, no matter how hopeless life seemed and how bleak the future looked.

“When it rained in Las Vegas, it rained hard. All day, mostly, and rain didn’t come very often so when it did, people made the most of it. My neighbors used to put out buckets to catch the rain water from their bent gutter, and they’d use the water for their vegetable plants and flowers since running the water was expensive. I did that once, and my father told me we didn’t have any plants- we didn’t need to collect rain water. A few weeks later my mother decided she wanted to make a flower garden, so when she was lucid, we’d go out and plant seeds in this small wooden box I made. I still have a scar from hammering one of the nails through my finger.”

Spencer didn’t want to think about the dead petunias.

He focused on the blood pooling from his small, pale finger as it impaled itself on the metal nail. His mind supplied the grotesque memory of the thick substance running down his hand as he silently screamed into his other hand.

“Is that why you don’t like the rain?” Don’t act so innocent, Spencer wanted to say, but he bit his tongue and swallowed, ignoring how similar his boss and William look in those pristine suits they always wore. How easy it could be for Hotch to overpower him and hurt him.

“No, no. I had to walk myself to the nearest Urgent Care because William wasn’t home and my mother can’t drive.”

“William?”

“I mean- my father. A-Anyways, my mother and I planted petunias, and every time it rained I collected the runoff water from the gutters. My neighbors- the ones who started it- would always smile and wave to me from across the street when they saw me start to leave out the buckets. We used to have tea at their house, and chocolate cake. I think... they must have passed on by now. They were old when I left.”

It’s quiet, so quiet that Spencer swears he can hear the agents on the floor below them, going over paperwork or briefing themselves for a case. The man wishes that were him, just so he doesn’t have to relive the horrors he never got the chance to forget.

“Neighbors are a blessing. My brother and I used to help the elderly couple next door with the groceries and in turn, they gave us a few quarters or hard candy.”

The younger man smiles, but it’s crooked and doesn’t reach his eyes. They never do, these days, but a Hotch has refrained form mentioning it in hopes that everything would turn out okay without his intervention. He would be wrong, though he didn’t know it yet, as a clear phial in his agent’s apartment was calling the man’s name, and their was no one to stop him from claiming it once he returned home.

“It was raining one night... real bad, too, and my father came home from work. I had been watching television for the first time in what I can remember being years and he walked in soaking wet, exhausted and angry,” Spencer runs his fingers over his other palm, wishing he was touching the smooth exterior of his mother’s pen rather than his skin. Oh, how he longed to feel the twisting top that revealed the tip, the soft click it made as it slowly came up from it’s hidden cave of ink never failed to calm his nerves. William’s fist was crumbling the bones in his nose, every time he closed his weary eyes. And when he slept, those large feet were raining down on him like bombs, pain exploding from every hit, blooming bruises and sickeningly red blood left in the attack’s wake. “We were talking, just pleasantries. It was awkward, as it always was when he was coming out from a spell of silence, and it was really my fault in the end. I provoked him, claimed he was a bad father and husband. That he never loved me. I should have known it would go south but I was- am- stubborn and stupid.”

Hotch glances down at his paper work, forlorn eyes filling with unshed tears as he thought back to the many times he had been the fool that made his father angry. Usually it was Sean, as his younger brother was the arguing type, but Aaron always did anything in his power to protect his brother. He had a horrible feeling of where this conversation was going, and he hated it with all his heart.

Through all the years he’s known Spencer, he learned too much about the boy that he wanted.

Like how the young genius thought houses could talk. How he though that floorboards could tell secrets to ceiling panels; walls could share pleasantries; objects could hold memories. Aaron still didn’t know if that was true, Reid was always so factual and logical, but he didn’t argue. He let the man have his childish fun.

Spencer liked poetry, more than novels even.He read poems so often, that as more day passed, his words became more and more poetic and cryptic, alongside with scientific and all statistics. It scared the older man, as the younger was pulling further and further away from his own world and finding comfort in the words of others.

The genius had a fear of the dark. This one was the worst.

Unbeknownst to both men, the very room they were in was already playing tricks on them. Echoing their voices, twisting their words, digging beneath their skin in search for their darkest unmentionables. And once found, they dig them up and force the secrets from their mouths, flicking tongues and clanking teeth. In the end, the doctor was right, as he was about most things.

The walls hold secrets.

Secrets they aren’t afraid to tell. The rain knows all about a building’s inability to hold it’s tongue. When it sides down the outer walls, seeping through moldy wood and rusts the exposed metal, it hears the words concealed in drywall and concrete and finally falls to the ground in it’s final resting place. A cool, desolate puddle.

“You’re anything but stupid.”

Reid smiles, just a quirk of the lip.

“He came over to me, William that is, and just started... beating the hell out of me, as if it were second nature. Punching me and kicking me, pulling my hair. I hit the coffee table in the way down and my mind went blank and all I could hear as he hit me was the...”

“The rain.”

“It killed mother’s petunias,” He says so quietly, that Aaron almost doesn’t hear. “Flooded them until their stems were forced to wilt and the petals were under water. All of them: dead. And for awhile I thought that maybe, just maybe, they’d grow back. I was wrong. William left a week later and I never thought about the flowers, or the hole at the bottom of the fence, or the way my mother cried and cried and cried for days afterward.”

“Spencer. I’m so sorry-“

“Is it bad that I wish he had stayed? Sometimes I just think that even if we were miserable, we were miserable together, and we were all the same in that like. After he left it was like a part of us, even if it were minuscule, was missing,” He closed his eyes, imagined the pen between his fingers, and wishes he could cry. But no tears form in his well-worn eyes. “It was my own fault, for being a pathetic excuse for a son. It was like I didn’t even try to make him proud.”

Spencer blinks, and before him sits his boss, crossed legged and staring tiredly at the floor, as if it were to open up and swallow him whole.

“It was never your fault. None of it. There is no justification for hurting your own child and I live by that everyday. Because no matter how angry I get, no matter how tired and fed up I am, I never once thought of laying a hand on Jack. No child, no matter how intelligent or beyond their years, deserves to be hurt by their parents. Do you understand me, Spencer? It wasn’t your fault.”

The rain is just mocking him now, impersonating the tears he so desperately wishes would fall down his face.

“There’s a quote that says, ‘Keep watering yourself until you feel like you again,’ and I- I feel like my mother’s petunias after the rain, nowadays. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Darkness settles over the room, an enormous, uncanny sense of harsh numbing as the words settle into the carpet, into the worn pages of the books and into the crevices of the walls. The air is suffocating, a humid, dank scent reeking of melancholy that has Hotchner’s lungs constructing on themselves as he soaked in the revelation of his youngest agent. His own poignancy springs to the surface, reminding him that right now, he has empathy on his side.

Hotch blinks once, twice, a third time, as if this were all some dream that he would wake up from.

He chooses his words carefully.

“That’s okay. Flowers can always be replanted and can grow again, right?” He doesn’t wait for the curt nod, but appreciates it anyways. “What you’re feeling doesn’t have to weigh you down. You are more worthy than you could ever think, Reid. Spencer. And nothing your father has ever told you or done to you can take away that fact. You matter more than that bastard, so don’t let him take away your right to live happily. Someone once said, ‘Only the brave and the broken are kind in this world.’ I have no qualms about dubbing you the kindest man I ever had the luck of knowing.”

“People hate me,” Spencer whispers, skin aching for physical touch to melt away the raging fire beneath his pale skin. “They think I’m weird, that I’m- I’m retarded. I don’t deserve to live, not with the things I’ve done. Not with the people I’ve hurt.”

As if reading his mind, Hotch drove forward and caught his boy in a searing embrace.

It was like holding together a shattered vase, pieces falling lifelessly to the ground as he slowly fell apart at the seams. Clutching his boss’ jacket, he buried his face in the man’s neck, not at all bothered by the close proximity as he usually was. He relished in the warmth, in the hand rubbing down his back and the other holding the back of his head, petting down his hair smoothly.

This is better than the dilaudid, he thinks, even as the inner flesh of his elbow itched.

“Anyone who doesn’t like you is full of hot air. I know it, the team knows it, and you should too. Remember what Gideon used to say, the only opinion that matters is your own, and if you care about what other people think, then you set yourself up for disappointment every time.”

“I hate being different.”

“Being special is what makes you our Reid. Garcia’s Boy Wonder, Prentiss’ Handsome, JJ’s Spence, Rossi’s Kid, Morgan’s Pretty Boy, and my... and my best agent. My son.”

Tears. Oh, so brilliant and feeble as they crawled down flushed cheeks and landed heavily on the tailored suit jacket.

“I-I need he-help. I need he-help so bad. I can’t sle-sleep, eat o-or think anymore.”

“Anything. Anything.”

The rain stops whispering, then, and simply watches from the covered windows with intense interest as two grown men hug and cry into each other’s shoulders. It’s silent as the water slowly comes to a stop, leaving a light, yet still overcast sky, behind. The walls don’t speak anymore, the floorboards don’t creak and Spencer’s skin doesn’t crave the sweet relief of a phial and injection.

The next day, clouds slowly move across a grey expanse, but it doesn’t rain.

But, those days were far from over.

Spencer finds his mother’s pen in his back pocket, looks up towards the sky, and screams.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited to post this since everyone was so kind to me on the first part of this series. It makes me beyond glad that you all enjoyed it, and you are all so nice it warms my heart. I wrote this while listening to rain rounds for dramatic effect, haha! Anyways, I hope you all are staying safe and healthy and are doing all you can to avoid getting sick ;)
> 
> Feel free to comment, leave kudos, and save for later! Lots of love- Lara <3


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